The Little Gargoyle and the Monsters

Peter gave me a gargoyle for Christmas one year. It was just a tiny thing, about four inches high, and cast in resin. Despite his size, he was a dedicated little guardian.

 

I set him on top of the bookshelf by the window. Sometimes he was half-hidden in the trailing leaves of the spider plant, or obscured behind the curtains behind the shelf, but he was there, and he knew why was there. Unlike the winged cat, who was fun and adventurous and handsome, or the spotted shell which was content to sit there and be pretty, or the lizard candle with the colored swirls on it which sunned itself all the time, the gargoyle knew he was there to work. His ugly face was designed to scare away evil spirits and his claws and wings gave him the means to back it up. He took his job seriously, and was proud to do his best.

I bought some nice scary novels, anticipating reading them over a long weekend. They were by an author I had read before, and promised to be full of monsters and adventure. I was looking forward to the goosebumps and thrills I would get when I read them. I stacked them on the bookshelf under the window, because my bedside table was full, and one thing led to another for a few days. The books were temporarily left while I attended to other things.

The little gargoyle was very concerned about the books full of ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. He paced quite close to the edge of the shelf, just waiting for one of them to make an appearance, invading his territory.

The books sat there innocently, though, and nothing crawled out of the books to challenge the little gargoyle. Finally, he could not stand it anymore. The little gargoyle sprang down to the shelf below and opened one of the books. He poked around in it for a few minutes, and soon found the first of the monsters. Happily, he launched himself into battle. That monster didn’t last long. He moved onto the next one. That one, too, was soon vanquished. By the end of the evening, he had bested every beastie in the book. He sat on the top shelf and carefully cleaned his claws and wings and looked very smug.

The next day, he took on the next book, and the day after that, the third. That evening, I finally had time to read the first of the novels. I picked it up, expecting to be absorbed in it quickly, but to my surprise, it was very bland and the supposedly scary creatures in it were anything but scary. I put it down, disappointed, and decided to try the next one. It too was lacking something in the way of suspense. I picked up the third and it was just the same. I was very puzzled. The author was usually very good, and the books had gotten good reviews.

I decided to quit for the day, and left the last book for tomorrow.

The little gargoyle knew that he had to act quickly to protect everyone against the monsters in the last book. He slipped down to the next shelf and opened the book.

To his surprise, the first monster was ready for him. “Now look here,” it said, “You already took care of the monsters in all the other books. You spoiled the suspense, and made them bad reads. I have no intention of letting you do that to MY book!” All the other monsters in the book were standing behind him, backing him up.

“If that’s the way you want it then,” said the little gargoyle, and he dusted off his claws and stretched his wings and waded in.

That evening I went to pick up the last book. It was not on the stack. Looking around, I found shreds of it half hidden around the corner of the bookshelf and more pieces jammed behind some of the other books. It had been destroyed.

“How on earth did this happen?” I exclaimed, looking around the room for a culprit.

The winged cat on the top shelf said, “Psst,” and nodded his head towards the big lavender candle on the top shelf. Puzzled, I looked at the candle. There was a wing sticking out from behind it, quivering slightly. The wing pulled back behind the candle as I reached for it.

I picked up the candle and found the little gargoyle hunched there miserably.  Reaching down, I picked him up and held him in front of me. “And what do you know about my book being damaged?” I asked.

“The dog! It must have been the dog!” he spluttered.

“No go, buddy. The dog was in his kennel all day.”

The little gargoyle drooped and sighed and then came clean. “I was just doing my job!” he said. “That last batch just didn’t want to give in!”

“Last batch? What do you mean by ‘last batch’?” I asked.

“The monsters in the books- they fought back, really hard. The other monsters in the other books, they weren’t so hard to beat! They didn’t tear up the books at all!”

“Well, that explains a lot of things,” I said. “Gargoyle, you didn’t tear up those other books on the outside, but you tore up the stories badly. They just weren’t any fun to read with the monsters gone or subdued!”

“But they were monsters! They shouldn’t be here!”

“Yes they should! They were book monsters,” I told him, “That was their job. They were supposed to be scary to entertain me! The ones that fought back were just trying to stay around to do their job!”

The little gargoyle had the good grace to look abashed.

“Now, if I go and buy some more books, are you going to beat up the monsters before I even have a chance to read the books?”

“If they’re dangerous…” he began.

“Let’s compromise. If they come out of the books, you can attack them, and only then. If they don’t, you have to leave them alone. Other wise, I’ll move you to the kitchen where the scariest thing is the garbage can!” I threatened.

The little gargoyle grumbled, but he saw reason. (He really didn’t want to move to the kitchen.) For my part, I have tried to keep books he might find threatening far away from him. Once in a while, though, I have to put some of the books on the shelf by the window. Then I catch him pacing up and down by the edge of the shelf waiting…just waiting.